


the hole you dug yourself into

by magicasen



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 1872
Genre: Fandom Stocking 2016, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen/pseuds/magicasen
Summary: Steve breaks up a saloon fight with some unlikely help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).



> Thanks to Sineala for looking this over!

Tonight's the wrong night for someone to call in a brawl broken out in the saloon. Bucky's got the next two nights off to spend with the new Mrs. Barnes, which of course is when all hell breaks loose.

“Stand down!” Steve bellows as he shoves through the saloon doors. His voice is enough to freeze most of the brawlers in place, who probably only started throwing punches because others were. There's a band of men still goading on two men, likely the instigators driven too far by drink and violence to listen. 

Steve pulls one by the scruff of his shirt, yanking him backward and barking for bystanders to grab him. He doesn't push far enough, and the man comes back and throws a swing so wide it would make Steve's da cry. He gets an uppercut to the chin, knocking him out cold.

The other takes the opening, getting under Steve's arm with his shoulder and shoving. Steve grunts as he's lifted up and slammed against the bar. Pain shoots up his spine, and a whimper escapes him.

The gunshot is followed by the sound of screams. Steve throws his arms over his face as he falls to the ground, the man's body slumping over him.

After a long moment, he uncurls himself and lifts his head, expecting the worst.

He checks for a bullet hole on the body. He can't find one, and the man's still breathing. He's not even bleeding, as far as Steve can tell.

The answer is easy to find once he lays the man flat and takes a look around. The other patrons have given Tony a wide berth. There's a metal contraption on Tony's arm, like a very elaborate setup for an ace up his sleeve, except it's smoking.

Steve struggles to his feet, his back protesting. “What the hell sort of gun is that, Stark?”

“Why," Tony's voice is scathing, "in case you couldn't tell, it's a non-lethal weapon, thank you, Sheriff.” 

"Oh." Judging from Tony's expression, Steve feels he should apologize, and isn't sure how. The moment passes when Tony tugs his sleeve back down, covering the device.

The bustle begins to pick up, people rightening overturned tables and picking up scattered playing cards, apparently intent on returning to their games and music. They keep their distance from Steve, Tony, and the two unconscious instigators. Nothing keeps people from their drinking and gambling. 

Tony proves Steve's point, falling into the stool next to him and taking several gulps from a half-empty bottle.

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly, rubbing at his back. Tony responds with another deep swig, slamming the bottle down on the counter.

“Wasn't exactly thinking when I did it." Tony shrugs, then grins. "Do I get an honorary medal for helping restore the peace, Sheriff?”

“Not if I don't want to get laughed out of Timely by tomorrow morning, you don't.” Steve eyes him; the only thing keeping Tony from splaying himself over the counter is how hard he's gripping the neck of his bottle. “You need to go home.”

Tony throws an arm out to the side. “Every other night you tell me the same thing and disrespect my civil liberties and drag me out. What for? Being a model citizen? Never get into any fights, never cause you any trouble.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from showing his amusement. “That's the biggest whopper I've ever been told, and I grew up in the Five Points.”

“Now listen,” Tony slurs, “it's your prerogative. Not in the job description to haul out drunkards minding their own business. Entirely on your own time, Sheriff.”

“Public nuisance,” Steve tells him. The men stir as he cuffs them. These two are new in town—it figures.

Fisk's barman doesn't respond, simply staring at Steve when he tells him to watch over the other man while he escorts the first to the jail.

“Watch over him, too,” Steve says about Tony as he heads out, “I'll be back for him later,” and Tony snorts.

“Your personal problem, Rogers.”

 __Yeah, Steve thinks, I know.


End file.
